Certified Fictional Whore

Growing up, your mother used to tell you that you were going to be a star. She would say it so casually, like it was a fact already written into the world. On mornings when the city still smelled of wet pavement and dust, she would crouch in front of you, wiping the dirt from your cheeks with her thumb, brushing your hair back until your face was fully visible. There, she’d say softly, as if revealing something precious. That’s the face everyone will remember.

She had a beautiful purple scarf and tied it around your neck. You've always loved that scarf. She would tell you that only royalty wore purple, so she bought it for that reason.

Once she was done grooming you, she would bring the broken mirror to your face. It's a broken, jagged line splitting your reflection into two, but if anything she thought it meant double the beauty. She said you have the face meant to be on television, but you would always laugh at her remarks because that's impossible. Co-Op City doesn't want to see scum on the surface, nevertheless be the center of attention. The people born in the dark were meant for it. You never thought you would be the center of attention either.

But things change, life happens, and it changes you too.

And your mother was right. You are a star.

━━━━ ✦ ━━━━

❝ This little minx has found herself trapped by the Hunters again! ❞

The booming voice belonging to Bobby T pierces through the city as you hear nearby people roaring at their screens. Doesn't matter where you are, you can always hear someone watching you. You can't tell if they're people cheering for your survival or screaming for your death. Either way, the attention is exhilarating.

It's day nine of The Running Man, and you really got yourself into some shit. You're in New York City and all eyes are on you as a camera follows you through the maze of an old shoe factory. Ancient machines are littered everywhere, making it easier for you to slow down the dogs chasing after you, but harder for you to identify a quick exit. Hunters are sniffing you as you squeeze yourself between different machines and quickly try to find your exit out of here.

You've really pissed the hunters off. It's been a game of cat and mouse, and you always weasel your way out. The Network coined the name Minx for your quick wit and beauty. Though, the one you've really pissed off is Chief Evan McCone. Your gun only has one bullet left. It would be a waste to shoot now, but all you can do is cut corners and slow the men behind you down.

It has been nine days of near misses and narrow escapes, of turning corners with your heart in your throat and laughter bubbling up anyway. You should hate this. The exposure, the danger, the way every breath could be your last.

But you don’t.

You like it. All eyes are on you.

“Well, fuck.”

You hit a dead end. A large fabric dying machine blocks you, and you can't turn around. It looks like it's been years since it's been touched, but a pool of deep purple dye remains in the tub. You can hear the heavy footsteps of the Hunters behind you. Scanning for possible exits, you find a window high off the ground, but you could make it. You just need a spot to give yourself a lift. There was just enough space for you to kick yourself off, but just as you make the jump, you feel something tug at your hair from behind.

" Gotcha," a hot, raspy breath growls against your ear.

You know that voice. It's the voice that's been taunting you for days. It's the head dog himself. Chief Evan McCone. His leathered hands has a tight grip in your hair as you feel his nose take in your scent like a dog. His other hand sliding across your throat, toying with your mother's scarf that you have tied around your neck.

The camera swings in instantly, capturing the tense moment.

You grin.

“ Did you? ” you ask sweetly. You attempt to shoot at his foot, missing, but unknowingly shooting a loose pedal on the machine.

The hundred year old hunk of metal roars to life with a violent screech, belts spinning wildly. Evan jerks back in surprise, grip loosening from your hair and his other hand pulling your scarf free from your neck.

You twist out of his hold, grab the front of his vest, and shove him straight into a dangling conveyor belt of the fabric machine. He tries to grab at you again, only to stumble backwards. Swearing, nearly face-planting into a pool of purple as the camera captures every second. His loss of balance, the scramble, the pure, undiluted rage, and most importantly, the purple pigment smudged across his face and uniform.

The crowd goes wild.

You blow him a kiss.

“Smile for the camera,” you say, as you make your jump towards the window.

❝ AND JUST LIKE THAT THE MINX IS OUT ! ❞

You disappear into the city beyond the factory as Bobby laughs himself hoarse and Evan McCone’s furious curses echoes behind you.

Another escape. Another humiliation.

You wish you could know what his expression was under that mask.

━━━━ ✦ ━━━━

A few hours have passed and the sun finally dipped below the city line. You checked into a hotel outside of the city. It's a shame. With this amount of money, you wish you could be in a penthouse overlooking all of New York City, but instead, you're in a more cozy hotel with just a view from afar. It will do though. You're still living the dream.

Even though there are five ruthless men hunting you down along with the rest of the nation. At least the hunters are hot. At least four of them are. You have yet to see what the one who really matters to you looks like, but you like the mystery. The suspense. The tension. It's all so thrilling.

Evan McCone has made it apparent that you are the one that's really pissed him off. You like it when he plays rough. You love the attention, as fucked up as it sounds.

You are still shocked that you've managed to make it nine days. The first contestant died in no time, tips from the public. You haven't heard from the other one quite yet, but you don't focus on him. You're only focused on your survival. Your performance is everything to you. You don't know what your long term plan is. You don't have the luxury to look too far ahead, just to try to make it through the moment.

There are perks to the Running Man despite the ever looming presence of fear and death. For instance, a bath. You would never have the pleasure of soaking yourself in sweet jasmine scented water and bubbles until now. After soaking away your stressors, dry yourself off, and slip into the most darling silk pajamas.

With the amount of money you have now, you've been indulging in a few luxuries you've always wanted, as long as it could fit into your bag of course. It sounds so foolish, but you love this feeling. The attention from the thousands of people rooting for you and the ability to treat yourself after all the years you've been battered and bruised by Co-Op City.

You rifle through your belongings. You reload your gun with bullets. Definitely don't want to miss a shot again. You slide a thigh strap on and holster your gun. As you go through your things, you find your camera. You still have to record yourself for the day. It honestly slipped your mind, but you still have six hours till midnight. You deserve just a few more moments of peace.

The least you could do is enjoy the view before you have to return to your duties. As you walk to the window, you pull the curtains a little to give yourself a little bit of privacy. The city lights call for you, like a city made of diamonds. How you long to live in a beautiful city of jewels.

The hair on the back of your neck stands as you feel a shift in the air.

You turn around.

You're now frozen.

A six foot five figure looms over you. He's shielded in leather, deep army green, shadows clinging to him. It's no other than Evan McCone. The lap dog of the Network. He is silent, controlled, anger practically radiating off of him as he just stands there. He wears his usual uniform. Face covered, but you can sense exactly what he feels.

You look at his fingers, exposed from his leather gloves. There is a little bit of purple underneath his finger nails.

“I think you look better in green than purple,” you laugh, your fingertips grazing your holster.

His jaw flexes, “You think this is fucking funny?”

Next his fist clenches, “You embarrassed me. On live.”

“It's just for the show. No hard feelings” He literally wants you to die. The least you could do is have a little fun.

“Did I really hurt your feelings? Damn, you really are just a sad little dog.”

Oh, you're pissing him off. He steps closer. Too close. The tension crackles, sharp and unmistakable, and you hate that part of you thrills at it. Hate that your breath catches, not just from fear but attraction.

You pull your gun from your holster. You are cautious but ready. He's still a few feet ahead of you, but you can't tell what his intentions are. You point directly at his chest, so this time you won't miss it.

There have been moments before where he had his hands wrapped around your neck trying to squeeze the life out of you. Moments where his fingers tangled in your hair, grip brutal and possessive. Violence has always been his language. But this. This feels different. Quieter. More intimate.

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice low, measured, like he knows exactly what’s racing through your head. “I won’t kill you.”

Your grip tightens on the gun.

“There are no cameras,” he continues with a scoff. “It’d be against my contract to kill you off-screen.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You couldn’t give a single fuck about your contract.”

His mouth twitches. “You’re right.”

He moves again, slow and deliberate, until he’s right in front of you. Close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, see the way his eyes drag over your smaller frame. The black lace and satin catching the low light was like a provocation. Something seeing on display like this feels personal as if this was a special surprise just for him. His eyes are drawn towards your thighs, but he quickly snaps away.

“Killian’s taken a liking to you,” he says. “And I don’t know what he’d do to me if I killed you. Especially without an audience.”

Your stomach twists. You can feel heat spread throughout your body. The heat flushes your cheeks to your necks to even your thighs.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse skips a beat. “I don’t give a fuck about that creep.”

Something dark flickers across Evan’s eyes. Approval, maybe. Or irritation. It’s hard to tell. His face is still covered.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You might miss your shot again”

You don’t look down. “I will shoot. Don't fucking test me.”

He's silent. Reading you. For a moment, neither of you move. The room feels too small, the air too thick. Your gun is still raised, but he doesn’t try to take it. He doesn’t even look at it. Instead, his eyes stay locked on yours. You can't read his eyes underneath his tinted sunglasses, but you can feel his fierce gaze despite the dark colored lenses.

“You enjoy this,” he says with amusement. Not an accusation. An observation.

Your jaw tightens. “Enjoy what?”

“Being chased. Being watched.” He leans in just enough to make your heart stutter. His breath was hot. “Being untouchable.”

You swallow. “And you hate that I am.”

“Maybe,” he says. A smile creeps underneath his mask, “Or maybe I just hate that you’re winning.” He pulls his sunglasses off his face and slides them into his pocket. McCone has signaled something within you. That he is staring straight into your soul. No words needed to be exchanged for you to know what he is trying to do.

Your finger hovers near the trigger. His presence is a threat, a temptation, a promise of violence wrapped in restraint. You should fire. You should run. But instead, you hold his gaze.

This isn’t about killing one another. Or Killian. Or even the game.

It’s about control. And neither of you is willing to give it up.

Like a shadow, he covers you. His large figure looks over you as you maintain your composure. You keep your gun pointed at his abdomen. Evan's leathered hand grabs your gun, lowering your arm to the side. He is closer than ever, and you are still. You haven't moved an inch, but you don't want to submit to whatever mind game he is playing with you. His other gloved hand traces the sides of your neck as he leans in to take in your fresh scent. Oh, he secretly loved it. Seeing you in a submissive state, easily accessible to him. Not to mention you're practically giving him a little show. Your satin set drapes over your figure beautifully and temptations taunt him. You feel leather wrap around your neck. Not enough to choke you, but enough to signal to you his dominance.

“What do you want from me, Chief?”

“This is me making sure you understand the consequences of fucking with me.”

“Are you that pissed that I've ruined your shot a few times?”

“No, I want to remind you who is being chased and who is running,” McCone's face is practically hovering over yours. Your lips could touch if it weren't for the mask covering his face. He tries to nudge his head closer to yours. You can feel a bit of warmth between your legs as you feel leather travel up and down your thigh. Honestly, the fact that he wants you dead makes the moment hotter. His head dips, enough for his masked lips to graze yours. How could such an aggressive and violent man be capable of something so soft. That is when the fire blazes inside you, and you enter fight mode. You wind your head back and launch it forward, head butting him with all your strength.

“You stupid bi-” McCone is cut off from you taking your gun and slamming it to the side of his head, knocking him out.

Your heart races with adrenaline as you look at the Chief hunter at your feet. You feel alive.

The logical next action would be to pack up your things and run, but no. You have the perfect opportunity to show McCone who is in power here. You grin as you grab your camera and some rope.

━━━━ ✦ ━━━━

Evan stirs in his sleep, slowly waking up to a pounding headache. He can't seem to remember exactly where he is because his memory is hazy. He opens his eyes and notices he's only wearing his black turtleneck and leather trousers. He finds his coat and equipment neatly folded in the corner of the room. He scans the rest of his surroundings and recognizes the hotel room immediately. He jolts only to find his hands are bound to a bed.

He hears a chuckle break the silence in the room. In front of him is you, emerging from the bathroom brushing your hair.

“Hello there, sleepy, you weren't out for long,” you chime with a sly smile on your face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” McCone immediately snaps at you, thrashing against his restraints.

“What's my problem?” You mock him, “you’re the one who broke into my room and tried to corner me. I’m just returning the favor.” You creep to sit between his legs, admiring the work in front of you. McCone is pissed. He's enraged, but also something deep inside him desires you. He felt something stirring deep in his leather trousers, enough to give him a little discomfort.

“Untie me,” he growls.

You lean in just enough that he can feel your presence, your warmth, the quiet confidence rolling off you. “And ruin the moment?” you murmur. Your hands steady yourself on his thick, leather cladded thighs.

His breath shifts. He hates that you notice.

His eyes darken, something dangerous flickering there. “You’re playing a risky game.”

You lift the camera into his view, letting it catch the light. “Funny,” you say as you bring yourself to straddle him, “That’s exactly why I signed up for The Running Man.”

His breath is thick and hot as he watches you spread your smooth legs across his crotch and slowly lower yourself on his now apparent length. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The air between you is thick, charged with things neither of you wants to admit out loud. Anger. Curiosity. Desire.

Evan pulls subtly at the restraints again, not to escape, just enough to remind you how strong he is. His eyes are filled with a hunger that is dying to be fulfilled now. His pants progressively grow tighter as he feels you slowly roll your hips on his own.

You don’t flinch. Instead, you smile. And that’s what gets to him most. That beautiful, dazzling smile that has the entire Network and nation in a trance.

Because for the first time since he started hunting you, Evan McCone isn’t sure whether he wants to break free or stay right where you’ve left him. You bring your face close to his mask, your hands toying with the edge of his neck. You slowly slide the mask up past his chin, and you lean in to plant a little kiss on his neck.

“I am going to give you exactly what you want, and you're going to give me what I want,” you say as you position the camera on yourself.

“Holy fuck,” Evan groans as he realizes exactly what you're doing. He bucks his hips and thrashes, but he unintendedly grinds his hardened cock against your clothed pussy. His fight and refusal is in vain though because McCone wants to see whatever sick plan you have cultivating, "You're fucking insane."

“And you like it.” You’re right, and he knows it. Something about this—about you—scratches at an itch he didn’t know he had. The tough, adrenaline-junkie Chief Evan McCone has chased danger his entire life, lived for the rush of the hunt, the finality of a kill. But this is different. This is a hunger a kill can’t satisfy.

You turn on the camera and immediately slip into your award-winning smile, the one the audience knows by heart. 

“Good evening to all my Running Man fans,” you purr, voice smooth and playful. “I thought I’d give you a little fan service tonight. You’ve all been so patient.”

You say with a suggestive smile as one strap to your silk top slowly slides off your shoulder as if it was on queue.

"But first, I want to introduce you to a very special guest of today's live stream!" You spin the camera toward the bed. Just long enough to catch the unmistakable sight of a bound, masked figure. Then you quickly snap it back to yourself. "That's, right! It's everyone's favorite hunter, Chief Evan McCone"

A low groan sounds from behind you, part disbelief, part humiliation. Evan’s chest rises sharply as reality crashes in. The Network’s prized enforcer, reduced to a prop in your show. The crowd’s darling Minx once again turned the tables, live and unfiltered.

"And tonight I am going to give all of you a little show." You give the camera a little wink and a kiss. "To show each and every one of you all, what happens when you try to fuck with me!"

You return your attention to McCone. His eyes are filled with anger, want, and helpless fascination. You begin to grind your hips against his, getting his cock painfully harder than it was before.

“Let's see what I can get done in just ten minutes”

You lift the edge of his mask again, just enough to reveal his mouth. Your fingertip traces the line of his lips, slow and deliberate, feeling the roughness of silver stubble beneath your touch. He looks unguarded like this. Human. You imagine he rarely has time for something as trivial as shaving when every waking hour is spent chasing you. You wonder what scars are underneath that mask of his.

“You know,” McCone mutters, voice rough, “I’ve been on a lot of television. But nothing like this.”

You smile against his throat, lingering there just long enough to make the point before pulling back. “Don’t worry,” you say lightly, tapping the mask into place. “I’ll keep this on. I like the mystery.” Your eyes glint. “It makes it more exciting.”

Evan exhales slowly. The mask doesn’t concern him. Killian and the producers will blur whatever they want, carve the footage into whatever spectacle suits them. Honestly, they probably wouldn't air it considering how he's involved. Some sick freak editor is going to have a fun time watching this over.

He wishes he wasn't tied up at least. If he wasn't so intoxicated by your body, he would be thinking of a plan of how to get back at you. How to break free and tame the little minx that has the nation and Network wrapped around her finger.

“I can't imagine a leather pants and a black turtleneck would be comfortable in this situation,” you tease, your hand rubbing his bulge, begging to be free from the leather trapping it. He twitches under your touch.

You smirk. You have the most dangerous man in the world, melting from your touch.

“You hate this,” you murmur, your fingers digging into his cock, “almost as much as you want it.”

His jaw clenches. “Untie me,” he growls again, but the words lack conviction now.

You flash him a smile.

Instead, your fingers hook into the fabric of his turtleneck. You don’t bother being gentle. The fabric strains, then gives with a sharp rip, the sound loud and final in the quiet room. You pull again, tearing the shirt just down his chest, exposing skin that’s been hidden beneath bulletproof vests and authority for far too long. The restraints keep him helpless as the cotton peels away, ruined and discarded. Your nails trace the many scars that cover his deliciously muscular body.

“Oops,” you say lightly, almost mock-sweet. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he mutters. He didn't care too much about the shirt anyways. He has plenty of others.

His breath is heavy as you begin to kiss his neck. Your soft lips move from his neck down to his chest. Your tongue gives his chest a swift lick as you lift his shirt and drag your nails at his scarred abs. His happy trail leading to his covered cock is a beautiful sight. Your fingers make way to the zipper of his pants. Ever so slowly, you pull the zipper down and grip his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. You begin to kiss it through the cloth. McCone thrusts his hips into your lips craving for more. His breath is uneven and needy yet filled with frustration.

“Fuck,” Evan pants, straining instinctively against the restraints, breath coming fast and uneven. His body reacts despite himself, tension coiling tight beneath your touch. “You’re going to have to lift the mask,” he growls hoarsely. “It’s getting too damn hot.”

You consider him for a moment, eyes flicking to the mask as his breathing stays uneven.

Slowly, deliberately, you hook a finger beneath the fabric and lift it just enough to free his mouth. Cool air hits his skin and he exhales sharply.

“Fine,” you murmur, voice low and amused. “But that mouth doesn’t get freedom for nothing.”

His lips part, still catching breath, eyes dark with want and frustration. He swallows, clearly understanding the terms even as he resents them.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters. You slid your silk bottoms off revealing your black, lacy panties. McCone's mouth waters at the sight of it. You crawl towards him and place both of your legs on either side of his head, your thighs pressing against him, and your hands holding onto the headboard to keep you balanced. You can feel his hot breath hitting your clothed pussy.

“Eat me out,” you coo sweetly.

“Oh. Fuck.” His cock twitches.

In an instant, his head thrusts forward and begins to lick at your folds through your panties. His spit soaks the thin material while his tongue attempts to push it to the side. Your part your panties to the side and push your pussy onto his mouth, his stubble scratching against your inner thighs as you squeeze his head.

“Fuck, you're so good,” You moan, looking towards the camera. You give it a seductive wink and bite your lip, "Who knew Chief can eat pussy so good".

In retaliation, he softly bites at your thighs. "Shut up," he mutters before he begins to suck your clit. You begin to cry and shake in an instant. Your moan makes his cock twitch and fights at his restraints. He's loosened them enough to move his wrist, but not enough for him to be able to grab you. You rock your cunt against his face while his tongue slides between your folds and into your pussy. His tongue darts in and out of you, and it makes your pussy slick with his spit and your juices.

“You are so fucking wet,” McCone moans into your pussy. The sounds of your moans while he unravels you with his tongue is encouraging him to go deeper. You’ve never felt pleasure reach deep within you like this. It’s almost enough to cloud your judgement. A part of you just wants to fuck him on the spot. You reach over to grab the camera and point it at the tongue working against your pussy filming him collecting every droplet of sweet juice you give to him. Now you are soaking. His mouth and jaw are covered in your slickness.

“Give them a show, Chief,” you grab the back of his head and push it deeper into your cunt, his mouth suctioning to your pussy.

Evan grunts and moans wanting to get you to cum all over his face. Show everyone that he's bringing you to the edge. He's rough now. Slurping and nibbling at your cunt as you continue to grind into his mouth.

It’s addicting to know he’s under you. He is not the one in control of your pleasure. You are. “Oh fuck—yes—right there” You are shaking, barely holding it together as his tongue switches from licking your clit to fucking you. You raise the camera to show your face, wanting to capture the look of you cumming on the Network's most prized hunter.

“Keep fucking going, McCone, I am going to cum” You moan, thrusting your head back. He growls on your pussy and thrusts against you. Hearing his name like that was enough for something dangerous to come out of him. He loved it, and he wanted to hear more. “Say my real fucking name while you cum on my face,” he says as he starts sucking on your clit hard.

That tipped you over the edge. “Evan!” You cry, shaking as your orgasm rips through your body. You feel a pool of wetness and heat coming from your pussy, soaking him as his tongue continues to lap at your sensitive cunt. He is still sucking and toying your pussy as you ride your orgasm on his lips. Your hand is twitching, and you can barely tell what all you managed to film. 

“Oh, Chief,” you purr as you move from his face to now sitting on his rock hard cock. You peel your panties off and smear your slick pussy on his covered cock. You look down with amusement to see the stain of pre-cum his dick has been leaking while you sat on his face. You look back at him. Your eyes ignited with desire. His lips are red and burning as he looks at the hot, messy display in front of him, and he loves every second of it.

You lean in for a sloppy kiss, fueled with passion. You film him kissing you back, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, tasting your juices on his lips as you do so. 

“Tell the people how much you love this pussy,” you moan on his lips. His teeth catch your bottom lip, biting down hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs. It’s hard. He reinserts his dominance flaring, a reflex from a man who isn’t used to being bound. You pull away and quickly grab his jaw, reminding him you’re the one in power here.

His jaw flexes beneath your hand and he snarls.

You lean in just enough to make the message unmistakable. “If you touch,” you murmur, “it’s because I let you.” You also check the amount of time left to record and you only have a few minutes left. That shouldn’t be an issue though. You just want to hear him beg for it. 

“If you want me to suck that dick of yours, I am going to need you to tell the camera.” You grin. It is his time to shine. He is an actor after all. You did him a favor and pulled his mask back down.

“Fuck—” Evan swallows hard, jaw tightening as he fights the words even as they claw their way out of him. His shoulders tense against the restraints, muscles flexing uselessly as if strength alone might save him.

“I fucking love eating out your pussy,” He forces out, his words sharp with desperation and humiliation as his eyes avoids contact with the camera pointed at him. “Please,” he bucks his hips and shakes against his restraints, his cock clearly begging for more friction against your wet pussy. “Just— fucking touch me already.”

His chin lifts as if he’s trying to reclaim some shred of authority even while he’s asking. He hates this—hates how badly he wants it, hates that you’re the one making him say it.

“God, that was so hot,” You bite your lip as you pan the camera down to where his bulge meets your pussy. You felt so small on top of his big figure, yet you felt so powerful. Letting him know that right now, he is your bitch. You free his cock from his underwear, and your pussy practically drops at what you see. An amused hum leaves his lips, and you know he is smirking underneath that mask. Evan McCone has such a big dick. It’s thick and craving for touch. His pre-cum dribbles from the slit on his cock.

“You think you can take it all?” He teased you. You wrap your hand around his cock, but it doesn’t even fully cover the circumference of his dick. Damn, he is big.

“Holy shit. You are so big,” you pan the camera to his dick as you begin to stroke it. He grunts, thrusting his hips into your hand. “But I will make it fit.”

“I want to get every second of me sucking your dick on camera,” you look at him with an almost innocent look. He loves it, he can’t lie. His ego is inflated because he knows he has the body of a God and is blessed with an incredibly big dick. It twists something dark and dangerous inside him. Because even as his pride burns at the loss of control, another part of him revels in watching you, in feeling your desire sharpen around him like a blade.

McCone’s loud groans echo through the room as you lick the slit of his cock, savoring the taste of his salty pre-cum. It almost tastes leathery. You press his cock against your cheek. The visual girthy cock next to your soft, delicate face makes him utter a noise you’ve never heard of before.  You playfully slap his dick against your lips, your tongue occasionally licking it as you do so. Seeing you like this makes him feral. He pulls at his restraints, his knuckles turning white from digging his fingers into the palms of his hands. 

“Suck it”

In an instant, you are running your tongue up and down his length while one hand jerks the base of his cock. Your attempt to record the entire thing is quite sad because you are too focused on giving him attention.

“You think you can fucking take it all?” To which you respond with a mischievous smile. You love a challenge. Your lips kiss the head of his cock before sliding his girth down your mouth. Spit dribbles down your mouth and pools at the base of his cock as you take in as much as his cock as you can. You suck, entering a rhythmic state as you look at him with lustful eyes. You love this. The crude sounds of him trying to suppress his moans and groans. It’s pitiful really, seeing how easy it is to have him unravel. You’ve given up on the camera. It’s fallen from your grasp and now lays on the bed, getting a clear shot of the sheets instead of any of the action.

A flurry of curses leave Evan’s lips as he thrusts his dick into your mouth. Something snaps. One of the restraints gives way under the strain of his wrist, rope coming undone just enough for him to pull free.

You don’t even realize it until it’s too late. Fuck, is he going to free himself?

Instead of the sound of another restraint snapping, you hear an amused grunt. His hand comes down fast, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tightly as he behinds to fuck your mouth. 

“Take my big dick—oh fuck—you’re such a good slut” His dick is sliding in and out your mouth at lightning speed. His powerful thighs pounding into your mouth, obscene moans and noises leaving your lips as tears begin to form at the corner of your eyes. Your pussy gets wetter as his praise and cursing.

You feel him let go of your hair—not to escape, not to untie himself—but to grab the fallen camera. He lifts it, filming you getting face-fucked by his large cock. It was a beautiful scene for him. Seeing tears roll down your cheeks as his dick ruthlessly fucks your mouth. Your top is now only half on, exposing just enough breast to tease the camera, and now you’re using both of your hands to pump the base of his dick while you suck on his head.

“That’s it—fuck—,” His legs are spread wide, his muscles flexing from restraint. You give a teasing lick to the sensitive vein on his cock, and it sends him spiraling. You quickly pop his dick out of your mouth and begin stroking it quickly.

“Fuck—I’m cumming,” A guttural moan erupts from his throat as his thick, warm cum shoots from his cock. You continue to pump his cock and tilt it towards the exposed part of his chest, cum shooting everywhere. He’s truly made a mess, but you figured being a hunter and all he probably doesn’t get much time to have sex nonetheless jerk off.

“Shit,” He groans out of anger. His cum is spread all over his chest and on your hands. You quickly snatch the camera from him and point it at the beautiful display in front of you. His exposed chest was covered in sweat and a mixture of spit and cum. His cock is now soft, yet still large. His pants are undone, and his breath is heavy from having to orgasm while still being masked. You lean down to lick the sticky white substance from his chest, sucking your fingers while doing so. Seeing you suck the cum off of your fingers, feeds his ego even as it scorches his pride.

You turn the camera back on yourself. You’re disheveled, hair mussed, breath still uneven, but there’s a glow beneath it all that can’t be dimmed. From where he’s watching, it’s unmistakable. You look triumphant.

“I hope you all enjoyed a different kind of performance,” you say lightly, voice breathless from the dubious actions that just occurred, “that’s the end of my show. I hope you all learned your lesson! Don’t fuck with me! ” You bat your eyes and smile. Then the camera clicks off and you close it. The room falls still with only the combined breathing of you and Evan in the room.

“Bet you haven’t been touched in a long time,” you tease as you lift yourself off of him. You leave the bed to go to the bathroom and clean yourself off.

“You are a crazy bitch,” he mutters to himself.

Yes, he’s humiliated. The scene you’ve made of him, the way you’ve flipped the narrative and put him on display—it should enrage him. It does. But the anger is tangled with something darker, something he doesn’t want to name.

Desire. He’s almost disappointed that you didn’t do more, but you only had ten minutes.

“How many more minutes until you try to kill me?” you joke lightly. You changed into a baggy pair of sweats, ready to leave the comforts of your hotel to mail out your tape. When you step back into the room, the humor dies in your throat.

There’s a stranger in your bed.

At least you thought so for a second. Then recognition hits, sharp and disorienting. Evan McCone lies exactly where you left him. Shirt still torn. Pants still undone. The aftermath is still stark against his exposed skin. One arm remains bound to the bedframe, but his freed hand is clenched tight around his army-green mask.

And now he’s looking at you without it. He’s handsome. The kind of handsome that doesn’t ask for approval, that’s been carved out of years of violence and survival. Scars map his face like a history written in flesh. Each one telling a story he never bothered to soften. Lines crease his forehead, not from age alone, but from stress, command, and the weight of too many decisions made in blood.

You hate the way your chest tightens.

“It’ll last longer if you take a picture,” he scoffs, catching your stare. The corner of your mouth twitches. 

“I hope you learned your lesson, McCone,” shaking your head as you begin to pack all of your things quickly. There’s no reason for you to stick around and have him kill you or at least get close to. You turn around and meet his chest. Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. He’s free. 

“Lesson?” he murmurs. Still a disheveled mess, only now he’s free. His eyes are beaming with amusement as he backs you into the wall in one swift motion. The impact rattles through you. His leathered hands grip your hips, firm and possessive, pinning you there like you never left the hunt at all. His face is so dangerously close to yours. His hand grabs your chin, making you meet his eyes. Now you can see his beautiful eyes clearly. His lips crash into yours. A rough, messy kiss ensues. His teeth clash yours as his tongue fights for you to submit. His stubble scrapes your skin as he presses into you. You quickly push him away.

“So this is what it’s like to have you defenseless.”

“Don’t” you snap.

You don’t know the damage you’ve done or the mark you’ve left behind. You planted something in Evan McCone. A seed. A dangerous one. Want twisted with curiosity, hunger braided with defiance. The fire in you, the way you refuse to bend, has given him something no hunt ever could. This isn’t just about catching you anymore.

“You’re going to leave,” Evan says at last, voice calm, controlled. His dominance worn like armor. “And when you come back, I’ll be gone.” To see what could happen next. He just stares back at you. His silence makes you want to say something crude to get a rise out of him, but you think you’ve had enough play time for the day. Evan isn’t quite sure if he wants to pin you down and finish you or choke you till you pass out. Everything you say enrages him, yet entices him to continue to entertain your games.

“I hope I don’t get in too much trouble for sending the Network a sex tape,” you joke as you walk towards the door. Before you leave, you look back for just a second and smile at him. That damn smile. It's now permanently etched into his thoughts. He honestly wished he could slap it off your cheeky face.

“Right, Evan?”

He’s still standing there looking at you except now he’s fully dressed, mask still off. You can’t read his face. But there’s one thing obvious. Things are different now. Now you have to play the game even harder because Chief Evan McCone has made it his mission to follow your every move.

When you return from your short errand, he’s gone. Like a ghost, you feel his lingering presence. 

Across the street, in the shadows, Evan watches your window. A lit cigarette in his mouth as he looks at the piece of fabric in his hand. It’s your scarf he swiped from you from your earlier altercation. He smirks, folds it carefully, and slips it into his pocket as he walks away into the night. He’s willing to play this Wicked Game with you, and in the end, he wants to win.

A wicked game between two forces that can’t seem to back down from one another.

It's a regular day in phys ed, the both of you half-assing your interest in the dodgeball game that's unfolding on the court in front of you. Eddie's laying upside down on the bleachers beside you, his head beside your feet as he messes with the hair tie you lent him (which he hasn't used properly since you handed it over). He flicks it at you, coaxing a hardly repressed smile from you as you slip it back onto your wrist.

"There she is," he teases. "Excited to get the shit beat out of you?"

"Oh, yeah," you drawl sarcastically. "Real excited. Last time I played dodgeball in gym someone broke my glasses."

"Can't be worse than getting hit in the nuts," Eddie comments. "Carver always aims for my nuts."

"Carver's the one who smashed my face in," you tell him.

He springs up so that he's sitting properly, grinning that cheesy, slightly evil grin that you've come to secretly adore over the past few months.

"A common enemy," he growls. "The greatest bond two heroes can have."

The coach blows his whistle, signaling the switching out of teams. You heave a heavy sigh as Eddie takes your hands and helps you up off the bleachers, holding you steady as you traverse your way down. As you step onto the court, the enemy in question glares at the both of you, Eddie accepting your hair tie when you offer it to him again and tying his messy mane back into a low ponytail.

"Which one of you is the woman in the relationship?" Jason jeers. " 'Cause it's clearly not the troll with tits."

You blush, turning away to hide your embarrassment and hurt. Eddie seethes, staring daggers back at him and stepping between you.

"Back off, man," he spits. "Just 'cause you couldn't get with her if you tried."

"Why would I want to?" Jason shoots back. "Especially after she's been your cum dumpster."

Eddie's fists clench, his jaw tensing in a way that promises violence. You rest your hand on his back where Jason can't see it, speaking under your breath.

"Just let it go. He's not worth it."

He takes a step backward, following your touch but still not quite conceding. Jason smirks at him, satisfied with himself in a way that makes your stomach turn.

"Fuckin' dick," Eddie mutters.

The match starts as usual, with the jocks taking an aggressive lead while everyone else hangs back. Eddie makes an effort to put himself between you and any projectiles, his eyes fixed on Jason as you both pretend to be invested in the game. When a ball hurled by Jason comes a little too close to you for comfort, Eddie immediately picks it up and chucks it back, hitting him in the stomach. It knocks the wind out of him for a moment, a sight that makes you and Eddie share a satisfied grin.

But Jason's quick to recover. He kicks another ball at Eddie, smacking him in the shoulder; Eddie retaliates with a ball thrown back into his face.

That's what does him in. Jason's on his rival in seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, his fist striking across Eddie's cheek. You react even before Eddie can, gripping Jason by the back of his shirt and bracing your feet firmly on the hardwood, using your strength to haul him back. The jock sputters, losing his balance as he wheels on you.

"What the he-"

You slap his sentence short, a harsh clap erupting as your palm collides with his cheek.

The entire class is frozen, staring at you in awe.

"Alright, break it up," snaps the coach, inserting himself between you and Jason. "That-" he turns to you "-was very unladylike. You've earned yourself a detention."

"Are you fucking serious?" you retort. "Eddie's cheek is split open! I was trying to get Jason off him."

"We all make choices, young lady," the coach lectures you. "Either to react or take the high road. You chose wrong."

Eddie shakes himself out of his lovesick haze. He couldn't take his eyes off you throughout the whole exchange, his heart fluttering wildly at the defiant set of your stance, the gorgeous deepening of your typical sneer; he hadn't even realized he was bleeding until you mentioned it. Now, with his heroine facing capture, he knows he has to step up.

"Hey, coach."

The washed up varsity all star turns to him, and Eddie promptly spits in his face. You gasp, covering up your startled laugh as your hand raises over your mouth.

"Out," the coach bellows. "Both of you, out of my sight! That's suspension, Munson!"

But Eddie's already on his way, hooking his arm with yours as he steers you out of the gym. The crowd of students gathered parts immediately in your wake, ogling you like you're some kind of monstrosities in a carnival sideshow. As you pass Jason, the girl standing next to him leans in and whispers:

"She's so mean."

Instead of going to the principal's office, Eddie guides you out to the parking lot. You're outside the school's back doors before you say anything, your hand sliding down to grasp his wrist.

"You didn't have to do that," you tell him. "Get yourself suspended for me. Don't you want to actually graduate this year?"

He smirks at you, all lopsided with his eyes crinkling in their corners the way you love. You blush, looking away from him.

"What's a week suspension gonna do to me?" he replies. "Fucker deserved it. Besides, I've got the prettiest girl in the world to get my homework for me."

It takes you a moment to realize he's talking about you. Your gaze snaps back to him, eyes wide.

"What?" he chuckles. "You don't think you're pretty?"

"I mean, no," you respond. "But I'm more shocked over the fact that that was so smooth. Especially when you looked like you were gonna cream your pants the first time you saw me in shorts."

Eddie cackles, trapping you in a headlock that causes you to scream. He aggressively, appreciatively kisses your forehead; you can't help but laugh, hugging him tightly around the waist.

Once he's satisfied with the amount of torture he's doled out, he props you upright and takes your hand, dragging you to his van.

"Let's get pizza," he suggests.

"My wallet is in my gym locker, though."

Eddie shakes his head, smiling at you like you're the cutest thing he's ever seen. You are the cutest thing he's ever seen.

"My treat," he says. "For slapping the shit out of Carver for me."